Poly As I Know It

So I had a long post written about the intricacies of poly as N and I want, and just deleted it all for this more concise point:

If three or more people agree to live if in an arrangement they all consent to, what business is it of anyone else to question, disparage or mock?

Whatzit Tooya?

In a thread I was on FL, we had this exact thing going on. Some troll feels that because the poly community (according to him) is 90% mentally damaged people, poly is basically a man having his cake and eating someone else’s too. He’s claimed that the men who say their s-types are required to stay monogamous to them are dickless wonders, unable to keep it in their pants nor tolerate the possible slight to their ego if their partner wanted another man.

And the women in this scenario are damaged broads with an inability to say no, who would do anything including feigning bisexuality and asking for emotional masochism to keep their “man”.

I don’t dispute that scenario. What I do dispute is that this behavior is relegated to the kink community. I’ve seen numerous vanilla couples doing the same, and I don’t my new troll-friend calling out the vanilla community for not recognizing how stupid they are.

Hasn't he ever watched an episode of "I fell in love with your sister!" ?

He also wouldn’t accept that there are women who can commit to being monogamous to a poly partner while being mentally stable and happy. These people don’t exist in his world, I guess.

Triangle relationships like the one N and I desire don’t fit into the troll’s equation, so he writes them off as minimal and conveniently bypasses them.

Unless we start requiring competency tests to allow people to engage in any kink, I think it is disingenuous to claim that poly shouldn’t be practiced because only mentally damaged people are doing it to fill a blighted hole in their pysche. If we start claiming that, we might as well bar people from doing S&M of any sort, because lots of people do so for less than stellar mental health reasons. Also, let’s get rid of religion, because many people use it to fill their voids and twist it to fuel and justify their irrational behavior. Fuck, get rid of politics too.

Poster child for mental illness being an allowable platform to run from.

Or we can just accept that people have a right to consent to whatever they want (barring a certifiable grave mental illness) and your objection that everyone in said group of consenting adults doesn’t have the right to do said actions because they aren’t doing it for the right reasons amounts to as much as piss in the wind.

Why is it that the smug monogamous people are the ones that ended up killing most poly threads, anyhow?

Popular Theme: Limits

Limits seem to be a fun topic on FL and around the various blogs right now, so I figured I’d be lazy and snag the topic for myself.

I’ve said in the past that I’m a no limit slave, but enough pedantic semantic-loving assholes came along and bitched so I amend that to a longer, less handy version: I have the limits my Owner gives me. He draws the lines in the sand, and He alone is allowed to decide if any of them ever need to be crossed.

Is this really the best saying for talking about an uncrossable limit?

Side rant: I don’t get why everyone uses the phrase “Drawing a line in the sand”. Isn’t there something a little more permanent we could draw that line through? Like, say, wet concrete?

I can already hear legions of web-idiots angrily asking their screens if I’d sacrifice my children on a barbecue or lop off my foot or rob a bank. Really, shut the hell up. How inane do you get? For the Christians among you, your damned God himself demanded a kiddie-bbq, for one of the dumbest reasons ever: show me you’d do anything for me. As for my foot: Well, I can honestly say that N would be very pissed if I had only one foot because He lopped it off on a whim; it would seriously impede my usefulness to Him. Rob a bank? I don’t think that will ever be a request. How would I serve Him from the lockup? Besides: it would leave Him alone with the kids. ๐Ÿ˜€

N runs on situational logic and limits. Something He’d never do in a normal situation might be called for due to an extreme situation or circumstance. He won’t give me very many “never”s. He doesn’t say “I’ll never have you cut off your foot” because He’d have to renege on that if I developed a condition that required medically-necessary amputation. Nearly everything is grey area to Him. His moral code requires Him to balance the pros and cons of a situation before making a decision on what the best route would be. I’m sure many people find this distasteful; they’re wrapped up in their own rigid moral codes and can’t imagine that a person who has such a fluid sense of “rightness” could be a good person. I’d suggest that if you can’t see that there are different circumstances to nearly every situation and you blindly insist on apply the same situation to every question, I’d be worried that I’d get swept into your dogmatic approach to life without ever being seen for the unique being I am.

I would place a lot less limits on myself than He does. I don’t mind. It’s a bit comforting knowing that He takes a more cautious approach to my health and safety than I would. And it’s a learning experience for me, because I didn’t grow up knowing how to set and respect boundaries. It gives me useful skills and helps me feel cared for and loved. If you care for and treasure something, you don’t just use it willy-nilly and let it burn out/up. You set limits as to how it can be used, and how it is cared for, and then use it within your own guidelines.

Well, that and N doesn’t feel like doing shit He doesn’t like, so those are His soft limits.

The laughable thing is I don’t have them written down anywhere, and neither does He. It wasn’t some elaborate discussion or fancy sheet(s) of paper. It’s tried-and-tested life experience, they wax and wane, and thankfully I am okay with that. ๐Ÿ™‚


Rant Collection (05-18-2010)

A few things have been sticking in my craw lately, so I’m going to share them all with you, my lovely readers. Have fun.

1. Littles. This shit drives me fucking nuts. If you want to act like a 4 year old in your house/relationship, hey whatever, knock yourself out. I’ll keep my opinions of how stupid you sound and look and act to my Owner and I. But when you go onto public forums that don’t involve “littlespeak or littleacts”, keep that shit to yourself! Don’t be subjecting me, non-consensually, to your stupid-ass role playing. It’s “with”, not “wif”. It’s “doggie”, not “goggie”. If my actual 4-year old son talked like you “littles” talk, he’d be in speech therapy post-haste. If he behaved like you littles behave, he’d be sitting in the corner learning how to interact with the rest of the world properly. I come onto adult forums to discuss adult topics with adults. Do you get the main point in that last sentence? Adult. So if you want to type like a brain-damaged preschooler, why the fuck are you on a sex-themed adult orientated website?!Which one is it: are you an adult who likes to sound like a kid who’s mom drank way too much, or are you a 4 year old who is somewhere they shouldn’t be? My 4 year old doesn’t get to use the computer. He sure as hell doesn’t get to go to websites with naked men and women splashed around. You want to talk and act like that? Go to a littles board. Don’t be dragging the rest of the adults into that babyshit when you are on regular fora. Dont like that? Go eat your fucking crayons and piss your diapers.

2. My neighbor seems to think that it is perfectly fine to lie and receive benefits form the state, because, well, the immigrant Mexicans get so much for doing nothing. Also, she doesn’t believe this is a racist statement, because, well, it’s true, she says. She is oblivious to how much of a dumbass she is. She seems to believe that because she is white, she is somehow more deserving of the state assistance than those damned Mexican immigrants she’s always bitching about. She whinges on about how she is getting her food stamps cut off because her man returned to work after a scheduled lay-off, I’m mumbling uninterested grunts in response, then she starts rambling on about the shit she bought at an auction for her kids, who have so much shit already that you literally can not take two steps in their rooms without stepping on or running into toys. Or the horse they bought. Or the big-screen tv. It’s a clue, you stupid white-trash racist bitch. Get one.

3. Being fat doesn’t mean I have “issues”. I had issues, and they had a great deal to do with the weight I put on over 5 years ago. I’m still overweight, now that the issues are dealt with, and I’m slowly getting back down to where I should be. It takes a lot of fucking hard work and dedication to lose weight that’s been stuck to you for 5 years. Medications can really pack a wallop on the scale, especially that hard-core anti-psychotic shit. So can the Depo shot. I had both. On top of that, they had me on a sedative, which is not conducive to getting up on a treadmill to keep the other drugs from weighing me down. Now that I am not on them, it will take me a few more years to undo the effects. Don’t dismiss my hard work and effort by lumping it all on a case of not enough determination or honor for my Owner. That isn’t it, not by a long shot. Anyone who wants to judge me by my weight now is free to see me again in 5 years, when I’m back to a fighting weight and would happily kick your ass. At least it won’t hurt as much then, as it would now, with my extra 80 lbs of weight behind each kick and punch.

4. What is with people on the ‘net trying to dictate what my Owner should find pleasing in His slave? I keep stumbling across shit like “a slave should be seen and not heard” or “a slave should be graceful, demure and soft, an example rare of the feminine flowering self”. Or my personal favorite, exhorting slaves to “let the Man do the hard work, and relegate yourself to the feminine domain; taking the trash out, yard work and the likes do not enhance your women’s mystique. These are things best suited for men. Do not challenge His ability to do so without help, for you may be unwittingly challenging His manliness.” I’m just going to say this: If my ability to drive a tractor, run a rototiller, haul wood and water or wrangle animals threatens His manliness, that’s His issue, not mine. And we would definitely not be a good pairing. This is the fucking country. We can’t afford to discount my ability to assist Him out on the grounds just to maintain what some jackass and his melting slave of submission feel real slaves should look and act like. The Man demands that I be able and ready to help out on physically demanding jobs from time to time. It’s what He wants in a slave. A female slave. He finds the concept of my strength and willingness to work appealing, just as He can appreciate when I’m dressed in a skirt and heels, makeup and hair carefully coiffed. I’d posit that an owner who finds a slave who works hard and has a certain hardness of the personality so horrifying and unpalatable take a good look at why he needs a weak-willed stuffed doll of a slave to make him feel good about his masterliness. I am a workhorse slave. I work for Him as He sees fit, and He finds pleasure in me being by His side doing something demanding and tiring. He finds pride in seeing me able to do typically masculine manual tasks that would have never occurred to me to try. I can schmooze and charm at parties, I can carry myself with dignity at dinners, I can fuck like the best of ’em in bed, and I can go get the whatzit from the toolbox or chain up a deadfall the way He wants it. I dare you to tell Him I am doing it wrong.

Warning: Not-very-good-slave behavior described within! (04-08-23010)

Now that i got that pesky warning out of the way, onto the subject matter for today.

i have been in a vicious headspace the past few days. Looking back, i would almost venture to say a week. i’ve been restless, snappish, tired and irritable. i’ve had completely random thoughts of deliberate disobedience pop into mind. i’ve (barely) bit back harsh names and ill-tempered insults hurled in His general direction. Seeing my weight shoot into the stratosphere hasn’t helped the mood. Seriously, i gained 10 pounds in one week.

i’m sure everyone else has already put the clues together, but i was at a loss as to why i felt this way. During my few lucid moments, i would look back at the day and wonder what the hell was wrong with me. i wanted to be a slave to this Man, so why was Him telling me to do the dishes leading to me sitting on my hands to not reach out and throttle Him? When i wasn’t suppressing the urge to scream at the top of my lungs and lunge for His throat, i was berating myself for being such a shitty slave. Two-fer special, ya dig.

Of course, in classic N style, His answer was to withdraw. Guaranteed to make me go from mildly pissed to homicidal in no time flat. If i start to come unraveled, He refuses to engage me. If i am unable to catch myself in time, i’ll totally come apart. Uncunted, in a horrible fashion. He’ll just ignore it, refuse to acknowledge the behavior, deny my urgings to engage on any kind of level with me. Once i’ve finally exhausted myself, lathered and heaving in a mental sense, He’ll saunter into my head and say “Done?” i know the outcome every time, but i still get absolutely furious when He does it. Could it be done some other way? i dunno. i’m not the one in charge of finding out, and i am not sure if He does it this way because He’s too fucking lazy to figure out a more effective tactic or He really thinks this will get us somewhere.

So. Anyway.

i had gone through the trouble of writing a blow-by-blow account of the argument that ensued after i came home and got ready for bed. Then i deleted it. It doesn’t really matter, honestly. i can sum it up for you pretty damn easily:

Tipsy, PMS-‘ing slave comes home and gets ready to crawl into bed, Owner starts acting like a passive-aggressive whiner (excuse me, Whiner), lectures said slave about something slave doesn’t really give a flying fuck about, Owner kills the buzz theย  slave was enjoying, slave lashes out at Owner, who’s smug “neener-neener” attitude digs at her more than Glenn Beck, Owner doesn’t really answer any of the retaliatory questions slave has, both go to bed irritated and suppressing the urge to smother the other.

Last night, i said to my friend that we were both too fucking stubborn to leave. i’m pretty sure i was right. i also said that one of us would end up dead before the relationship ended. i’m pretty sure i was right about that, too.

The fact that He didn’t reach over and smack the shit out of me is either a testament to His patience or a sign of apathy. The fact that i didn’t beat the fuck out of Him is either a sign of my devotion to Him or my immense stupidity. i haven’t figured out which one it was for either of us yet.

i foresee a tense regrouping in my future. Battle lines are being drawn, walls are being buttressed. i can feel that stupidity in me, multiplying, crowding out the logical thoughts, urging a coup, wanting to wage war. My teeth are gritted, muscles clenched with stress, desperately working to overcome this uprising in my head. i don’t know if i will win.

i read a saying the other day on FetLife that resonated with me: every Master gets exactly the slave he deserves. i’m going to try and keep that in mind as i work so frantically to quell these thoughts. Because, if the dam should break and i finally lose it, i won’t stand alone in the rubble and shoulder all the responsibility myself. Nuh-uh. There have been warning signs of impending collapse. Shots across the bow. Statements of intent. If The Man doesn’t deign to assist me in keeping my shit together, doesn’t see a need to reinforce the dynamic as He wants it, well, then:

Every Master gets exactly the slave he deserves.